Any Other Way
by 2662Sophya
Summary: "Father doesn't want me, and we have proven to be a good team. Besides, I spoke with the Kryptonian recently, and he told me a few things. I believe that the Flamebird mantle is free, yes?" No longer a oneshot, Dick/Damian (brotherly)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So…hi. A year after creating this account, I thought it was about time I posted something. Well, here goes nothing, I guess.**

**Disclaimer: Bruce, Tim, Dick and Damian belong to DC Comics, just like Gotham and Bludhaven**

After an exhausting night of patrolling in Bludhaven, there were a couple of things Dick Grayson was looking forward to as he climbed the open window and entered his apartment. Those things were along the lines of a relaxing bath, a cup of warm milk, a cookie or two and sleeping through the rest of the night until noon.

What he _wasn't _expecting, however, was to see his little brother Damian sitting no his (unmade) bed, tapping his foot impatiently and with a sports bag on the floor next to his feet.

"Dami?" Dick blinked as he closed the window behind him. Blue eyes snapped to him "What are you doing here?"

Damian got up, and Dick quickly took notice of his tense shoulders, tightly crossed arms, stiff posture and slight twitch of his lips.

"Father replaced me with Drake." The smaller boy said, emotionlessly, and Dick gaped. Damian scoffed "Close your mouth, Grayson, you look more like an idiot than usual."

Instead of replying, Dick took off his mask, furrowed his brow and asked "What happened?"

Damian briefly looked at the ground, before looking up once again "Father and I weren't really…getting along that well. And tonight, during patrol, we got into an argument, _again_, because the men we were following got away, and Father blamed me for it. He said that if I didn't follow his orders, I couldn't be Robin. I told him that knew perfectly well what I was doing and that it wasn't my fault that the men escaped. Then, he said that until I learnt to follow orders and gained his trust, I couldn't be Robin. He called Drake, and went on patrol without me."

Dick blinked, once, twice, before groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose. Father and son, both incredibly proud and stubborn as mules. After he stepped down from the Batman role, Dick had hoped, already back in Bludhaven, that it would work out and they would make a good team. Not as good as, say, he and Damian, but at least, pretty decent.

Clearly, that wasn't the case.

Sighing, he motioned for the younger boy to follow him as he walked out of his room, through the living room and into the kitchen, getting rid of his gloves and boots on the way. Rummaging through the fridge, he found a large crate of chocolate ice cream. Closing the fridge's door with his hip and picking two clean spoons from the sink, he took a chair, sat down, put the ice cream on the table and offered Damian one of the spoons. Wordlessly, Damian took the piece of cutlery offered to him and sat down as well. Both stayed in silence for a while, just eating ice cream, before Dick, after gulping down and licking his lips, decided it as good a time as any to continue the conversation.

"So," he said, carefully, looking at the boy sitting across from him "Bruce fired you. What happened next? Why'd you come here, of all places?"

For the first time since he'd entered the apartment, Dick saw insecurity creeping into the blue eyes of the Arabic boy, before being, once again, hidden behind the usual arrogance. Damian frowned, before answering.

"Well, I assumed that if I couldn't be Robin, there was no use staying in the Manor. Drake's insufferable and I know Father doesn't like having me around. I knew where you lived, so I packed a bag, warned Pennyworth and came here. You weren't present, of course, so I entered by the window, like you did. Really, Grayson, if I'm going to live here, you better upgrade your security."

Dick nearly spit his ice cream.

"Wait, what?" He stared at Damian "You actually want to _live _here?"

Damian frowned "Of course. As I previously stated, I can't really live in the Manor anymore and I do not wish to go back to my Mother, not to mention she probably wouldn't allow me. I don't really have anywhere else to go, therefore this was the only logical choice."

Dick grimaced, and pinched the bridge of his nose again. He couldn't help but feel pity at his brother's situation. The kid had just been rejected by the father he had looked up to his whole life, after having the same being done to him by his mother. Granted, the fact that he didn't have anywhere else to go was also the boy's own fault, for refusing to socialize with anyone out of the family, but Dick could understand that – being raised as an assassin probably didn't teach him many social skills. So, yeah, it wasn't surprising Damian would choose to go to the only person who had accepted him, apart from Alfred.

ON the other hand, Dick could barely live by himself, living on take outs and not spending that much time at home. How on Earth would he be able to raise Damian on these conditions? It was insane! He decided to tell Damian as much.

"Look, Dami…" Dick tugged at his hair slightly, trying to figure out how to tell Damian what he wanted in a delicate manner "It's not that I don't want you here but,…I can't take care of you. I don't know if you've noticed, but my house isn't that big and I have a day job."

Damian rolled his eyes.

"Please, Grayson. As you know, I am perfectly able to take care of myself. And I am aware that if I come to live here, it will not be like at the Manor. Also, I have school and, as unbecoming and worthless as it is, it's a part of my secret identity, so I will probably also be out when you are. Besides, thanks to being my Father's ward, you are rich, so you know as well as I do that money won't be a problem."

Dick blinked. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately "How about patrolling? You can't be Robin in Gotham, that's out of the question, and Bludhaven is different from Gotham. I'm not letting you patrol alone on a city you don't know."

Damian rolled his eyes, a movement that seemed oddly fond, before smirking at his older brother.

"Father doesn't want me, and we have proven to be a good team. Besides, I spoke with the Kryptonian recently, and he told me a few things. I believe that the Flamebird mantle is free, yes?"

No way. Was he…he was, wasn't he? Damian really was saying that he wanted to be Dick's partner again.

Feeling a grin take over his features, Dick raised an eyebrow "You'll need a costume."

Damian grinned, actually _grinned_, back "Ten steps ahead of you, Grayson." An, taking a notebook out of his jacket's pocket, he made it slide across the table, to Dick.

Opening the notebook, Dick's grin widened. There were sketches of a full body leotard, like his own, with a similar bird design (finger stripes and all), and with a hood, much like the one on Damian's Robin costume, but without the cape. The colors of the suit were scribbled in Damian's writing, indicating that the leotard would be dark red with a golden bird design, unlike his own black and blue. A mask, also red and similar to his own, was on the next page.

Looking up, Dick shared a grin with his brother "I'll take care of the residence change paperwork with Bruce. We'll work on the costume tomorrow, it's Saturday. Or, later today, I guess." He emended, sneaking a glance at the time displayed on the screen of the microwave. "I'm just going to take a bath and clean this up. You can sleep in my bed, if you want."

Nodding, Damian got up and, after hesitating for the smallest of moments, quickly walked forward and hugged Dick tightly around the middle. Smiling, Dick hugged back. He would swear he'd heard a soft "thank you" but, as his little brother retreated and acted as if the previous seconds hadn't happened, Dick decided not to comment on it, for Damian's sake.

As Dick Grayson had entered his apartment that night, he'd been expecting a couple of things, and finding his brother on his bedroom, hadn't been one of them. However, as he finally got under the covers, hair still damp from the shower, and felt a small body shuffle closer to him, he realized, as he pushed Damian closer and put an arm around the smaller boy, that this was the happiest he'd been in ages. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

**The Flamebird suit was partially inspired by ****dhauber****'s "Tumblr Dump 9" on Deviantart. Go check it out, it's awesome!**

**Now, how about you click on that pretty little button down there and tell me what you think of this oneshot? Pretty please? :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey there guys! A lot of you asked me to continue this story, and, I'll admit, I did have a few ideas that I wanted to put into use. But I didn't have the time to actually write them down, and when I did, I couldn't get pass the first two paragraphs. Until I decided to start the chapter a little differently, and thus, this was born. In a day, I might add. I'm quite proud.**

**Now, this wasn't exactly what I was planning when I started, but I like how it turned out. I want to apologize in advance for my poor imagination when it comes to pub names, fighting scenes and for any OOC-ness that might occur. Also, this is longer than I had planned and I **_**almost**_** left it at a cliffhanger. But then I thought that you guys deserved the long chapter after the wait I put you through. That being said…**

**Disclaimer: Gotham, Bludhaven, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne and Bruce Wayne belong to DC Comics**

_Bludhaven, October 2__nd__, 1.13 am_

It was a cold night.

The sky was black. There were no stars, no moon. The clouds were dark, heavy, promising a storm. There was no one on the main streets, even though it was barely past 1 am – the inhabitants of Bludhaven knew very well the perils of walking around at night, and had no wish of doing so. Well. _A part_ of Bludhaven's inhabitants.

The _other_ part (the part that, not-so-secretly, _ruled _Bludhaven) was focused on the lesser known streets, which came alive at night. Old, unkempt buildings that still served as a home to the poor souls who had no money (or no courage) to move out surrounded the road. Loud laughs and drunken shouts converged with police sirens and gun shots, in what was a fairly usual melody in Bludhaven. Bright signs marked the various bars and clubs – quite a large number, for such a poor city. Of course, that the great majority of this bars, clubs and other forms of business were able to stay afloat due to the less than legal business they conducted, and the less than legal clients they housed and served.

It was one of those pubs, 'Haven Inn' that Nightwing found himself watching, perched on the third floor window of a building two streets away from said pub and eating a cheeseburger from McDonalds.

It wasn't the greatest way to spend the night, true. But Nightwing had recently caught wind of an arms deal that was supposed to happen that week, and all the investigation that he had done (read: crosschecked Bat files, police files, placed bugs in various clubs, talked with all his inside contacts and let Dami rough up others a little bit), had led him to the _charming_ Irish pub he was currently watching. He'd set everything up in one of the many abandoned apartments around the city, using the electricity that hadn't been shut down yet to power the equipment necessary to properly spy on someone.

"_See,"_ he'd said to Damian after the younger hero had grumbled about carrying all the screens needed for the camera's feed up the stairs, because the damn building just _couldn't_ have a functioning elevator _"Bats has all those cool toys that he can afford to use. He's in Gotham and he's respected and backed up by Gordon and the police, if nothing else. We don't have that luxury here. No toys, no allies and crappy conditions."_

"_Why the hell did you choose this place, then? If it is that horrible-"_

"_What are you _talking_ about?! It's perfect!"_

And, well. In a certain way, it was. There were no expectations for a hero in Bludhaven. There were no crazy crime lords or maniacal super villains, just the good ol' mob bosses, serial killers and illegal dealers. It was an awful city, yes. But it was _his_ city. It _challenged_ him, it forced him to become _better_, physically and mentally. The police force in Bludhaven was corrupt, could not be trusted and wasn't willing to help the city's vigilante. He'd known that when he moved in. He didn't particularly care. He could do his job just fine, with or without their help.

"This woman is infuriating, Nightwing. If she asks for _one more _Martini I _will_ behead the harlot."

"Language." Dick chided amusedly, looking away from the pub to look back inside the apartment, where Damian was watching the live feed on the various screens they had installed. They all showed various parts of the pub, from different angles and perspectives. The one they were more focused on, though, showed a slightly secluded part of pub, isolated from the loud (incredibly drunk) clients closer to the door. Only two of tables of said secluded part were taken: one, by a couple that was quietly talking and that, by the looks they were sharing, were likely to leave in the near future; and then there was the one that they cared about.

The table had two occupants: a tall, dark skinned man, wearing sunglasses, a sharp black suit and a watch that was probably worth more than the pub itself, and a small, red haired woman wearing a leather jacket and going for her fifth Martini of the night.

The man, according to police files, was Asher Jones, a very well know arms dealer from New York. He had been convicted a couple of times, but the large quantity of money he had acquired had managed to let him go unpunished, be it though bribing the jury or the witnesses, or through the ridiculously expensive lawyers he hired. It was infuriating how easily he seemed to be able to get out of trouble, and as such Nightwing was determined to catch him.

The woman had been trickier, and had required a quick hack into the Bat database to find (so far, he hadn't heard from Gotham. Either he was a better hacker than he and Damian had thought, or they were too busy to deal with them). Her name was Erin Doyle, Irish heiress to a _very large_ crime society that wanted to establish alliance with some of the crime players across the pond through arms trade. Why? Dick wasn't quite sure. The logical explanation would be that they were going to move, or expand, to the U.S of A. Granted, it was strange maneuver, but he'd seen stranger.

What Dick _was _sure of, however, was that the woman could hold her liquor.

"Now she's ordering whiskey." Damian's head hit the table with a _thud_, before lifting it again to glare at Dick through his mask's lenses "You can't stop me. I will murder her."

Dick chuckled "Why? The woman's just drinking, why is that annoying you so much?"

"Because if she _didn't_ order this many drinks, the idiotic buffoon across from her would be much more inclined to accept her proposal, and they would've already got out of that disgusting place, which would mean that we'd be out of _this_ disgusting place and would, instead, be beating them into a pulp."

"Bloodthirsty, are we?" Grabbing the paper glass that was standing, untouched, on the chair next to Damian, Dick took a sip and immediately blanched "Is this Ice Tea?"

"Yes."

"But I wanted coke!"

"Well, isn't that unfortunate, Bird Brain."

"You realize you're a bird too, right? And don't swear."

"I'll swear as much as I want you dick!"

"Well, _that_'s original."

"Shut up, you idiot!"

"That's not original eith-"

"I told you to shut up, they're leaving!"

A quick glance at the screen showed him that yes, indeed Jones and Doyle (along with the bodyguards/underlings they'd bought with them) were getting up and walking towards the door. Quickly jumping back into his perch, Nightwing grabbed his binoculars, looked at the pub's entry and watched as their targets each entered a black car. Looking back at Damian, he nodded once, and the younger of the two quickly shut down all the devices they'd been using and put the rest of his vegetarian burger back in the paper bag it had come from.

They got out of the apartment through the window, climbing onto the roof and continued their chase through there. The building had been strategically chosen – not only did it have a great view of the pub's entrance, it was also close enough for the wireless cameras to have a good connection and it was very close to Bludhaven harbor, were the business was supposed to take place. This meant that they didn't have to use Nightwing's bike and could instead rely on their grappling guns and training to jump from rooftop to rooftop, actually reaching the harbor much faster than the cars they were chasing.

That also meant that they immediately noticed something amiss in the scene.

"There's no ship, van or people guarding any of the warehouses." Dick muttered, watching with narrowed eyes as the two black SUVs stopped in the middle of the harbor "This isn't a trade-"

"It's a trap." Damian concluded, watching with rapt attention as Asher Jones got out of his car, bodyguards right behind him, slammed the door and stalked to the other vehicle.

In contrast, Erin Doyle waited until her driver opened the passenger's seat door to get out of her car, calmly and slowly. This was strange, because Dick was pretty sure that that wasn't the place she'd been just a few minutes ago. Another strange thing was that none of her underlings got out of the car, and even the driver seemed to suddenly vanish. An alarm ringed in Dick's head.

"There's something wrong…" He muttered, with an uneasy feeling growing in his chest "There's something very wrong…"

Damian shushed him. Looking at his brother and his tense posture, Dick could see that Damian felt it too. They watched, with a sense of foreboding, as Jones approached Doyle, looking more furious by the second. There _was_ something wrong, they knew that much. But there wasn't anything they could do until they knew _what_ was going on, exactly.

"What the fuck?" The man yelled, walking into the woman's personal bubble and staring her down. Behind him, all of the man and women he'd bought took a gun out of their jackets, aiming it at the red headed woman, standing alone. "Where's my ammo, you bitch?"

Doyle smiled calmly.

"What ammo, exactly?" The question was asked calmly, innocently and, more importantly – with no accent whatsoever "I'm afraid I have no idea of what you're talking about, Asher. Perhaps you are mistaken?"

As Batman and Robin, it took them a while to start working as a team. As Nightwing and Flamebird, however, they were perfectly synchronized, two minds working as one. A great example of that was how, with no warning, both of them quickly and soundlessly ran across the roof they were in, jumping onto the next warehouse's roof – closer to the confrontation happening before them. Postures tensing, ready to jump and start fighting at a moment's notice, each of them took out their weapons out of their respective compartments. The distance between them didn't allow conversation, but the communicators made sure that they _could _hear each other.

"I'm not fucking joking around!" Jones shoved Doyle "You dare messin' with me? Do ya know who I am? Do ya? ANSWER ME YOU BITCH!"

And he slapped her.

The force was enough to send her reeling back. Disorientated, she tripped on her own feet, falling face first on the floor. And, for a moment, as her body remained scarily still, Dick wondered if the impact had been enough to kill her – oh? No. Her shoulders started shaking, and, slowly so did the rest of her body. Dick narrowed his eyes. Was she crying? The men and women at Jones' service seemed to think so, snickering nastily at the woman's expense, whereas Jones himself looked smug.

"You imbeciles." Damian's voice crackled in his earpiece, tensely "She isn't crying."

At that moment, a loud chuckle pierced the air, and was followed by a lot more, getting louder by the second. Indeed, there was no doubt that Erin Doyle wasn't crying. Or, if she was, it was from laughter.

Jones and his thugs were silent, warily staring at the laughing woman who was still on the ground. As her laughter subsided into the odd chuckle, Doyle slowly got up, with her back to Jones and her head bowed. When she did turn around, and lift her head, she was once again perfectly calm, no trace of the mad laughing fit they'd just witnessed.

"Your name is not Asher Jones." She started. Smiling calmly and pleasantly, she took no notice of the panicked expression of the man in front of her "Asher Jones died two months ago, by your hand, I might add. Your name is Stanley Erickson, born June 15th, 1985. You were a mere mail boy running errands for Asher when you found out he was cheating on his wife with a young woman he'd met abroad. You decided to blackmail him with this information and, when he didn't fold, you killed him and his wife. You hid their bodies, took their money, got yourself a plastic surgery, stole his identity and told everyone his wife was now living in the Bahamas."

"Wha-"

"It was a very good plan." The woman continued "Dumping the bodies in an incinerator was a nice touch, making sure that no one would find them. You assimilated Jones' personality flawlessly and you could've got away with all this – if you hadn't forgotten one very important detail." She smirked "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Especially a woman like Erin Doyle, who has enough money and power to hire someone willing to take care of the bastard who murdered her lover."

And then, before their eyes, she started to morph grotesquely, elongating and twisting, her skin melting and her hair shooting back into her head, until she dissolved into a brown puddle on the floor. The puddle quickly grew, elevating and expanding, and, as Jones (_Erickson?_) and the others backed away, terrified, the brown mass started to rearrange, taking on a humanoid form very familiar to both vigilantes perched on a warehouse's roof.

"Clayface."

"I don't usually do this kind of work." The man (?) informed the terrified people staring at him. Grinning nastily, he started to advance "But the little woman was so sad…I felt she deserved some closure. And who am I to deny any payment she might want to offer?"

The men and woman seemed to snap out of their stupor and shot him. Repeatedly. Clayface laughed as the bullets went clear though his body, continuing to advance on the panicking criminals. He was going to reach out to one of them, prepared to engulf the man in the strange brown mix, when he felt something _bigger_ than a bullet pierce him, and _stay in the same place._ Blinking, he looked down to see some sort of projectile, while one of its ends, resembling a bird's wing, stuck out of his chest.

Eyes widening in realization, he looked up just in time to see a black blur, before a kick to chest sent him staggering backwards, grunting. Another kick, this time hitting his side, made him turn slightly, in time to see a smaller, red silhouette cartwheel out of his vision field.

"Would ya look at that." Getting his equilibrium back, he managed to dodge the next kick, backing away to see his attackers. Two people. An older man, not too tall, with dark hair and a black leotard, well known to the hero and criminal communities alike, with a younger boy, dressed in red and orange, wearing a hood and with a striking resemblance to the latest Robin – who'd been, according to news reports – suspiciously absent around Gotham "The littlest bird flew into another nest."

"May I kill him?"

"Flamebird, we've talked about this."

"Tt. Spoilsport."

And then Flamebird pressed a button (that had _not_ been in his hand a second ago), and an electrical charge went through the net that connected the button to the projectile stuck on Clayface's chest. The creature screamed furiously as the electrical charge, far too high to resist, made him disintegrate into a shapeless, lifeless mass.

"We made quite a mess, didn't we?"

"Maybe I'll kill _you_ instead."

Chuckling, Nightwing pulled his younger brother into a hug, ignoring the other's furious curses and threats.

A few feet away, the criminals (handcuffed to each other and the warehouse, weapons placed neatly out of their reach) watched in complete bewilderment, as the so called Flamebird guy cursed at the top of his lungs, shouting threats and insults at the open air while Nightwing continued to hug him tightly, cooing and smiling as if he was taking care of a little kitten. Sharing glances between them, they briefly wondered exactly what the bat had done to his kids to make them this crazy.

-_Gotham, October 2__nd__, 12.30 am_

"_Moving on, it seems that Gotham's latest boy wonder has finally been found! Earlier today, at 2 am, Bludhaven police got an anonymous call, reporting criminal activity on Bludhaven Harbor. When the police force arrived, they found twelve criminals bound and weaponless, including the villain known as 'Clayface'. When asked to describe what had happened, some of the criminals told the police how they had been caught by Nightwing, Bludhaven's infamous vigilante, and his new young partner, who, apparently, looks a lot like our latest Robin._

'_I'm tellin' you, man! It was him! I've been in Gotham before, I've met the little pest. He was swearing and cursing and Nightwing was just hugging the guy as if he was some harmless baby! The kid was scary, yo, and Nightwing was just there, huggin' him! The dude is badass.'_

_Upon further questioning, the same man stated that he 'wouldn't be surprised if Nightwing was a Robin. How many were there, anyways?'_

_Could it be that, instead of one Robin, we've found _two_? The timelines of when Nightwing showed up and our first Boy Wonder disappeared seem to match. However, we have to wonder: why, exactly, did both Robins move to Bludhaven? What does Batman think about this? What-"_

The big, plasma screen TV was turned off. In front of it, sitting on a large couch, was a tall, dark haired man. He wasn't dressed in a suit, as he usually would be at this time of the day. Shirtless and in pajama bottoms, the man leaned forwards, placing his elbows on his knees and supporting his chin on in interlaced fingers. His blue eyes were narrowed, staring at the black screen in deep thought.

"Indeed." He muttered, in a low, raspy voice that many criminals had learnt to fear "what does Batman think about this?"

**See that line saying "Clayface"? Yeah, I was going to stop there.**

**So, what do you think? I can promise that there's going to be at least **_**one**_** more chapter, but, who knows? There might be more. Now, see that nice button down there? How 'bout you click it and tell me what you think of the chapter?**


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